


Simple As Grapes To Wine

by amyfortuna (elwinfortuna)



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Anniversary, Blow Jobs, Ice Play, M/M, Neck Kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-05-21
Updated: 2001-05-21
Packaged: 2020-12-27 22:03:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21125975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elwinfortuna/pseuds/amyfortuna





	Simple As Grapes To Wine

"Wine has always been a violent product, MacLeod," Methos said, twisting the bottle of '59 in his hands idly.

Duncan looked up from his book, quizzically.

"Broken by the feet of women or men or children throughout time, preserved through wars and famines, saved for one single special occasion...yes, Duncan, violent." He nodded, as though he had just completed a lecture on the historical significance of wine.

Duncan got to his feet. "Is it good enough?"

Methos shrugged. "I guess," he said, cocking his head slightly at Duncan.

Duncan took the bottle from Methos' hands and laid it aside on the table, then took Methos's hands in his own.

"I don't know why you wanted to dance to Queen music," he grumbled, just a bit.

"Only music since the eighteenth century worth dancing to," Methos retorted, grabbing the remote control off the table and pointing it at the stereo system.

The room was instantly filled with the very loud opening notes of "Pain Is So Close To Pleasure." Methos frantically slammed the volume button down.

"Never would have pegged you as a guy who likes his music _that_ loud," Methos said.

"Well, listening to Wagner can get..." Duncan paused as Methos shot him a glare, then continued, teasing, "exciting."

"Shut up and dance, chivalry boy," Methos said, dropping the remote back onto the table and pulling Duncan into his arms. "I'm not sure I want to hear about what you do with yourself when I'm not here."

The dance didn't quite live up to the expectations of the slow romantic measured waltz Duncan had been hoping for. Methos, though graceful, was insistent that _he_ was the leader, not the follower. Duncan couldn't convince him otherwise, never had been able to. So he just let Methos lead.

And it wasn't that Methos danced badly -- he just, well, had too much fun with it. He danced every dance like he probably did back in B.C., in it with his whole body, a springboard of motion.

Duncan had grown up in statelier times. But it was Methos he was dancing with, so he tried his best to capture the moves, or at least to keep up.

When the song ended, Methos was almost laughing with joy, face open, eyes alive.

And that was what Duncan had been aiming for anyway, so he didn't say anything, merely switched off the stereo and reached for the wine bottle. Methos' fingers brushed against his, and Duncan felt the sweetest of minute thrills go through his body. This was his Methos, his.

Duncan caught himself smiling like a lovesick fool at Methos as he poured the wine into two glasses. Methos was smiling back, almost delirious happiness reflecting in his eyes. Sometimes Methos changed moods faster than a woman, Duncan thought, from pensive to joyous in less than ten minutes.

He handed Methos a glass, pressing his hip against Methos' as he lifted his own glass.

"Happy anniversary, Methos," Duncan said, gazing into the stars in Methos' eyes.

Methos looked back, a faint hint of color in his cheeks. "Yes," he said, then added, almost hastily, "and many more."

Duncan drank his wine smiling.

The silence wasn't allowed to become oppressive; Duncan put the glass down immediately and reached for Methos, tangling a hand into the short brown hair, leaning in, and kissing his lover like he was trying to steal the last of his wine.

Methos laid his glass down with shaking fingers and joined the kiss wholeheartedly, hands snaking around Duncan's waist to sneak into his back pockets.

The first time Methos had done that, Duncan had wondered why, and had finally figured it out.

Because Duncan couldn't get away. It was a way of claiming Duncan, effectively declaring "mine! and you'll move when I want you to."

So it was Methos who was in charge from this moment on. When they broke the kiss, he let go of Duncan's clothes, instead taking his hand, and led him toward the bed in the corner of the room.

"Ten years, Mac," Methos sighed as they sat down together, still dressed, on the bed. "Consider yourself lucky, there haven't been many who got that long."

Duncan grinned. "I do consider myself lucky," he whispered, tracing a finger across Methos' lips, and leaning in for another kiss, a quick one this time. "Very lucky. How many people get" -- another kiss -- "a five thousand year old Immortal" -- Methos pushed Duncan backwards onto the bed -- "at their beck and call?"

Methos leaned over him, eyes mockingly fierce. "None," he whispered. Then glanced away as though searching the ceiling in thought. "There was this infant Scot who once put in a claim, though. I'll have to examine his application and get back to him."

Duncan pulled Methos down on top of him. "I'll show you infant!" he exclaimed, laughing.

"Ooooh, Mac, _that_ doesn't feel very infantile," Methos laughed, crawling up Duncan's body to get to his mouth.

They were both snickering uncontrollably at their own awful puns through the next few kisses. Duncan grabbed at Methos' sweater to pull it off then, but Methos backed away. "Can't catch me, can you?" he said, sneaking to the edge of the bed.

By the time Duncan caught Methos, in the loft kitchen, up against the refrigerator, neither of them was wearing any clothing and both were aching for fingers on skin. Duncan kissed Methos, holding tight to him with one hand, and reached for the ice dispenser with the other....

"Oh no you don't," Methos said, but couldn't get away, trapped as he was by Duncan's body. Duncan, a small cup of ice, and a captured Methos walked back to the bed together.

"You'll enjoy it," Duncan grinned ferally, throwing the top cover off of the bed and setting down the cup of ice on the small bedside table. "Trust me." And then delivered the crowning blow, with a leer. "Fraidy-cat."

A look of resignation came over Methos' face and he lay down on the bed, cruciform. "I hate cold stuff," he whined.

"You're not too old to learn better," Duncan said sternly, with a trace of an accent. He slid a small piece of ice into his mouth, melting it just a bit on his tongue.

And licked Methos' neck. Long, slow, sensual licks that seemed to eat him up. Short delicate licks that left him craving more. Every inch of that very sensitive part of his body was thoroughly laved by Duncan's cold, warm mouth. By the time Duncan's piece of ice was completely gone, Methos was whimpering and squirming against Duncan.

"Mac, please," Methos sighed, hands sneaking up to pull Duncan down for a kiss, tasting the last bits of ice in his mouth.

"So you like it?" Duncan asked. "Want me to continue?"

Methos' hands were suddenly turning him over. "I want you to take your turn like a man," he said. "What's good for the Methos is good for the Duncan, right?"

Duncan smiled. "Right," he said.

Methos went to town. Ice dribbled down the curve of Duncan's back to between the cheeks of his ass. Methos licked it up. All of it. Everywhere. Duncan groaned.

And for the final _coup d'etat_, Methos popped a piece of ice in his mouth, turned Duncan onto his back, drew a wet line down the middle of his chest and stomach all the way down to....

"OH GOD METHOS!" Duncan was screaming, going crazy with the dual sensations of Methos's warm lips and cold mouth on his cock.

Methos raised his head long enough to mutter "haven't heard THAT particular form of address in a while," and went back to work.

Duncan was gasping against him, breathing hard, thighs trembling. "So close," he whispered, straining into Methos' mouth.

"Then come, love," Methos whispered.

Duncan did. His eyes fluttered shut and the world grayed out for long moments, narrowed to the feel of Methos' mouth around him and body against him.

* * *

He finally came back to himself when Methos moved up to grab a kiss. "So it was good for you," Methos said, smiling.

"Always," Duncan said. And pounced. "Your turn now."

Methos lay back. "Oh, this is gonna be good," he said, positioning himself with his head on the pillow and legs spread. "Really good."

Duncan, sitting up, stared at Methos. "Can't I just take a few pictures?" Methos shook his head.

"Not in the contract, dear one. A blowjob, though..." Methos gestured to himself, "wouldn't be sending the wrong message now, would it?"

"What, that you're easy?" Duncan laughed.

Methos rolled over onto his side and reached for Duncan. "Incredibly easy. All it takes is an inexhaustible supply of beer. Now get over here."

Duncan obeyed. Knelt between Methos' legs, kissed the flat stomach lingeringly, traced a line of kisses down his side, where Methos was so sensitive as to be almost ticklish, kissed the scar just below the left nipple, a first-death wound from so long ago that Methos could not even remember it.

And finally, kissed his way to Methos' inner thighs and up to his cock. Methos groaned when Duncan's mouth touched him there, so hard already that he was leaking from the slit.

"You know, MacLeod," Methos gasped out, "I love you, but you can be awfully tentative at times. Suck it already!"

Duncan laughed, the vibration around his cock making Methos moan. And did as Methos asked.

The taste of Methos in his mouth was like tasting the ocean breeze on a windy day, salt and the taste of earth combined with the scent of air, wild and free. The taste of Methos was like the taste of the tears of the hundreds who had loved him, lived with him and died for him. The taste of Methos was like a faint taste of ancient blood and sweat and tears, mixed into a clay of divinity.

Methos was arching and sighing against him. Duncan let a hand wander up to catch one of his and rub it across Methos' nipples, together.

Duncan wasn't sucking anymore, just holding Methos' cock in his mouth, staring up into the ancient eyes that loved him and feeling their clasped hands move over Methos' body, when Methos gave a soul-deep groan, closed his eyes, and came, shuddering with ecstasy, into Duncan's mouth.

Duncan felt shivers go through him just from being near Methos, tiny sparks of Quickening fire leaping between them. Both men felt utterly drained. Duncan slid down onto the bed next to Methos and wrapped his arms around him.

Methos stirred after a moment, looking up into Duncan's eyes. "All that we have, it wasn't easy, was it?" he said.

"No, not easy at all," Duncan answered, remembering a scarred face and a shared Quickening.

"But it was simple," Methos said. "Very simple, if we could have only seen." He took a deep breath, pulling Duncan closer and closing his eyes as if to fall asleep. "Simple as grapes to wine."

And Duncan felt himself smiling, as they fell asleep wrapped in each other.


End file.
